P O L I T I C O N S C I O U S

I’ve always been a find a middle ground kind of gal. But how do you find the middle ground when you don’t see a middle?  Do you guys have some secret formula I don’t know about? One that allows someone to believe I am not as worthy or valuable as they are, but still allow us to be friends? Do you know how to ignore the fact that someone may wish you didn’t exist here, or now? How do you ignore real harm that was caused to you and people like you?  If someone says they hate your dad will you be ready to grab lunch with them? If someone says your mom is less worthy than theirs will you be quick to go to brunch? If someone says your sibling should die because it’s their fault anyway are you going to invite them over for dinner?  This idea that politics is some strange abstract concept foreign to our daily lives has long been disproved by our BIPOC communities. Politics affect me and people like me every day. We don’t get to go home and stop being oppressed. We don’t get to walk in our str

To my white friends: You keep sharing this post of a beautiful tomorrow where we can all hold hands in harmonious friendship and live happily ever after, but the truth is people like me can’t live happily ever after.  People who are Black, Brown, any shade other than white. We don’t get to wake up in a fairy tale ending tomorrow. People like me get to wake up with fear and pain in their hearts. Some of us wake up not knowing where our next meal may come from. Some of us wake up not knowing when will be the last day we see our parents, because they’re undocumented. Some of us wake up not knowing if we will be deported to a country we’ve never been to. Some of us wake up only to be killed by the people who swore to protect us. Some of us wake up to the realities of racist America , an America that has always been and continues to be, fighting against us.  So before you post about the friendships you have across the aisle, consider how those friendships make your disadvantaged friends fe

  As is the case with hundreds of other grads, I moved back home after graduation, in part, thanks to COVID-19. Before this, I hadn't thought much of this quaint little town, as I had tried my hardest to unlearn a lot of the biases and beliefs that I experienced. I have now been here since the end of March. It's been seven months of what sometimes feels like new observations, but is mostly just the same life I grew up having, just a little different.  I drive through town and I see plenty of American flags, something I was taught represented freedom, and equality, and all that good stuff you learn in history class. That has always been the case, those flags have always been there. And, as a first-generation immigrant, I believe(d) all that good stuff. I saw American flags and thought, yes, I live in the USA, and of course I'm grateful to live here, just as my parents taught me.  But recently, all those American flags I once saw as a symbol of my story, are accompanied by Tr